


nothing is written in stone

by TheQueenInTheNorth



Series: kasinara soulmate aus [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenInTheNorth/pseuds/TheQueenInTheNorth
Summary: Any mark on your skin shows up on your soulmate's. Kasius tries to contact his. They never reply.





	nothing is written in stone

Kasius knows his soulmate is a lot wilder than he is himself; the near constant phantom scrapes on his knees tell him as much. As he grows older, and his soulmate with him, the injuries become more and more. There's scarcely a day where he doesn't find some new bruises. His soulmate, on the other hand, doesn't need to worry about him marring their skin.

At first he thinks that's a good thing. But then he catches himself tracing the ghost of a cut along his ribs, wondering about his soulmate, and realises they don't even know he exists.

 _Hello,_ he writes on the back of his hand. He's not sure if that will go through aswell. There was an odd splotch on his chest once that looked more like a spill than it did a bruise, so he assumes writing will work. But no matter how long he stares at the word he wrote, he gets no reply.

Maybe his soulmate is asleep, he thinks. Over the next few months he keeps trying.

 _My name's Kasius. How are you?_ Who _are you? Can't you at least tell me your name?_

To no avail.

* * *

He contemplates the blade in his hand, letting it ghost across his skin. Maybe writing just doesn't work. Maybe it has to be an injury. There are many and more on his skin these days. He thinks they must be a soldier.

Some of their wounds are bad enough to leave imprints on his skin for weeks; from what he's heard that must mean they're scars on his soulmate.

Would they even notice a phantom injury among all the real ones they have?

Would they even understand he was trying to contact them? And if they did, would they reply? Maybe the writing wasn't the wrong way. Maybe his soulmate just ignored it.

He sighs and sets aside the knife. Father is right. He is a coward.

* * *

"You're bleeding,"he says rather idiotically. They've only exchanged the bare minimum of words so far and Sinara only gives him a short glance in reply before turning her attention back to the controls of the ship. Her whole side is covered in blood; she barely seems to notice. A warrior after his father's taste, he's sure. Well, had she not decided to assist his hated son in his desertion.

He gets out of the co-pilot's seat."I'll see if I can find a med kit."

She accepts it when he returns with one, but does not allow him to help tend to her injury. Not that he'd be much help, admittedly. The sight of so much blood makes him dizzy.

It's not until late that night that he finds the mark zigzagging along his side. He traces it in wonder, heart in his throat, before deciding it must be a coincident. Many people must have injured sides.

* * *

There are a few more such incidents, a few more maybe-confirmations. But the injuries are just general enough that he might be wrong every time.

Again he considers marking himself just to see if it really is her but decides against it.

They are people out there who do not like the idea of soulmates, he has heard that before. He can't afford to scare her off. At this point, she's all he has.

* * *

 

The Lighthouse is secure; no more injuries are forthcoming, or at least no serious ones. He can't really tell himself it's all just a coincident anymore.

"How was your training?"he asks. Her fingers unthinkingly ghost over her hip, the same spot where a twin phantom bruise appeared on his skin not long ago. It's fading already since it isn't too severe. She shrugs."Fine."

He tries the writing again. If it does appear on her skin, she does not comment.

If only she didn't wear those damned gloves all the time.

* * *

 

She pushes his hand aside as he's trailing his fingers across the network of scars across her stomach; he must have made one too many unthinking comment over unblemished skin, the way she seems so adamant to keep his attention away from her scars. It's rather annoying, really.

Because he wants to know if he remembers those marks appearing on his own skin, yes. But more than that because, when they're on her, he's never seen anything as stunning as the patterns running across her skin.

He could tell her so, he supposes, but instead he just watches her as she gets dressed and leaves. She never stays long, never stays the night. He offered, once, and she looked at him so queerly he never brought it up again.

* * *

Sinara moves closer, eyes fixed on the papers strewn across his desk. He throws her a questioning glance. She never shows much interest in his bureaucratic dealings, trusting that he will tell her the finished plans when the time comes.

"Are you alright?"he asks when she does not respond to his raised eyebrow. She tears her gaze away from the papers and nods. He could swear there is a hint of bewilderment in her eyes

They're interrupted before he can further dwell on the matter.

* * *

It would be so easy, he thinks, with his mouth against her throat, teeth lightly grazing her skin, to just bite down hard enough to leave a mark. That way he'd finally know. That way he'd have to wonder no more.

He's just not sure he could take it if he had been wrong all this time. If no mark appeared on his skin if he left one on hers.

So he doesn't.

* * *

He's staring at the cut on his face when she enters the room; he doesn't even turn around when she's right beside him. His own slave maimed him. He is disfigured.

"So that was your handwriting,"Sinara says, and now he does look at her. The shadow of his injury is slashed across her face. Words fail him, he simply stares at her. Somehow the scar doesn't look so horrible on her.

"I wrote to you for months,"he finally manages."I signed my name, Sinara. I practically begged you to reply. You could have at least-"

"I can't read,"she says, as if that should be perfectly obvious."The Empire doesn't need their foot soldiers to know how to read."

"You can't read." Kasius has never felt as stupid as he does now. In all the time he thought up his message, the possibility never even occured to him.

Sinara moves closer, one hand gently tracing the cut on his face, the other settling at the nape of his neck."Begged, huh?"

"Practically,"he corrects, but the distinction doesn't matter.

Because nothing else could possibly matter when she's kissing him like that.

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm sinara i'm 19 years old and i never fucking learned how to read!!  
> (yes this fic happened bc of that vine i have no regrets)


End file.
